


John Mitchell

by TheVision



Category: Being Human (UK)
Genre: Mitchell feels, thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-04 22:11:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3092744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheVision/pseuds/TheVision
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some Mitchell feelings, and thoughts. Short, as usual. </p><p>Thank you for reading, bookmarking, and leaving kudos!</p>
            </blockquote>





	John Mitchell

He relented to the feeling of power, of vengeance. Let it fill him up, flow in his veins with every violent beat of his heart. Or at least were it used to be. Pulsing in his blood, tormenting his thoughts. He wanted to fight it.   
He wanted to feel human, with a beating heart that pumped fresh, warm blood. Able to die. Not a monster. Immortal. Stuck in this life. Neither living, nor dead.   
The guilt, like a deadly poison in his body. As the lust and need to kill.   
Like a drug.  
Pulling his veins and nerves, right under his skin. Screaming. Crawling.   
He could “check out, but he could never leave”.   
Being immortal; he had heard others boasting about their eternal life, the glory of it. Being what they are.   
To him, it was cold. Lifeless.   
The “gift” of immortality promised a world of pleasure. Grandness. As an immortal you would have the power of giving people so much more than humanity had to offer. You’d be able to cheat Death. Being larger than God.  
Being larger than life itself.   
For some, humans were just seen as things that vampires could feed from. A source that gave them what they needed. Living, warm sweet blood. Fresh from the kill. ~And the dying ones, they could recruit. Growing in number. So they could have their time, creating an evolution against the world. Outnumbering everything else. Of course, they’d have to keep some of them mortal. 

But what did mortality have to offer. Living as a human. Being human, what was it like?   
Mitchell, at first, thought that it would be better. Just living like a ‘normal’ person, with a job, a proper life. It would be simple. Not ever have to lie to people, not have to hide who, and what you are. Never fearing to be discovered. Not to be seen as a monster, a freak. Something, that never should’ve existed in the first place. A disease.   
Eventually, however, he realised that being human, was not human at all. They were the real monsters. They were cruel.   
He would rather be what he is, something grander than that. Much more powerful. Stronger. Much more dangerous than being human.   
Because that was, what he truly was, inhuman. Dead. Corrupted.   
Many times, he wished he would have died, that night, as a soldier. He should have, probably, in gunfire, and glory. –Had he not stumbled upon William Herrick and some other vampires. But, perhaps, he had some unresolved businesses to tend to before he could check out.   
He felt mad… like his final little streak of humanity finally had left him. That was until he met two amazing people, a ghost and ironically enough, a werewolf. Lovely Annie, with her teapots, and ever-growing mountains of untouched cups of tea and coffee. And George, his George, with his Star of David, and his blue puppy-eyes. Somehow, they managed to keep him tact. Keep him sane, and human for so much longer, had he not met them.   
They managed to keep him good for a while. Then some dark, bad stuff happened, and he knew it wouldn’t stop there. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to stop. The thirst for blood would eventually take over him, again, pull him down and make him kill. Perhaps it would be another train, a school full off innocent children. He would never be able to live with that. He had already left a trail of blood, a thousand miles long. No more.   
So he had to die. Properly, this time. Not … half-dead, like this. He was dead. His heart had stopped beating for almost hundred years ago, his soul black, as the night. And the hunger. The unbearable hunger that tore at his body. Tantalising him, every day. Even after he had killed a person, it was not enough. It never stopped. It drove him mad, turned him into another person.   
Unrecognisable.


End file.
